Sabrina could hear the clank of coffeepot against cup in the background. Coffee sounded so nice right now. She glanced at the sunflower-shaped kitchen clock. The face was yellowed with age. “Look, Molls, I need to zoom. Thanks for calling to check up on me, and just … well, thanks.”
“What for?”
“For encouraging me to come here. It was the right thing to do.”
“I always knew that, Brini.” Molly’s tone was placid. “But it’s nice to hear you say it.”
Sabrina connected the cell phone to the charger. She still felt slightly wool-headed. Her sleep had been interrupted by the sound of Gage moving around in the kitchen while it was still dark outside and then again when the neighbors unleashed a passel of children and hounds outside her bedroom window. The shouting and baying had continued until she finally got up.
In the bleak daylight that poured through the windows, it became obvious that housekeeping had been pushed to the far back burner. Sabrina walked through the house to assess the damage. The coating of dust that covered everything not protected by the drop sheets was thicker than it looked. The lamps, the floor and even the walls looked musty. The bathtub was ringed with gray, and mildew flourished in the grout. Empty cans and frozen-food packages were precariously balanced on top of a pile of already-overflowing garbage in the kitchen bin. Dishes covered in what looked like tomato sauce moldered in the sink. Using her thumb and second finger as pincers, Sabrina carefully picked up a plastic container. It dripped of something viscous and malodorous.
She dropped it with a sound of disgust.
She could make a fair dent if she got an early start. All she needed was a steady supply of caffeine and the right cleaning supplies. Judging from the lack of provisions in the house, a run to the market was in order.
Without bothering to brush her hair or teeth, she slipped into jeans and a sweater, grateful that she’d had the presence of mind to pack a pair of leather ankle boots. It was cold outside but not nearly as biting as it had been when she arrived in Des Moines the night before. Teeth chattering, she revved the engine of the old Impala and turned the heat to full blast.
The vehicle was unwieldy and the model far too old to have airbags, but at least it was big enough to cushion the blow if she ran into another car or plowed into a street sign, she reasoned as she backed out of the snow-covered driveway. She was glad the roads were devoid of traffic. Of course they would be. It was New Year’s Day. Sabrina groaned. In a small town like Walden, most businesses would be closed.
Then she remembered Gage’s one-of-everything rule.
Sure enough, she happened across a twenty-four-hour market on the town’s main street. Once inside, she grabbed a basket and began collecting items with passing reference to the list she’d entered into her cell phone app. Rubber gloves. Laundry detergent. Lemon oil. Sponges. Oh, and bleach, she decided, reaching for the largest container. Bleach killed everything. A beverage kiosk was tucked away in a corner of the store. Three large Styrofoam cups of coffee and a packaged muffin would have her armed, fueled and ready to go.
Sabrina barely registered the sound of the store’s bell as she unloaded the items onto the checkout counter. The young man behind the counter looked sullen and more than a little hungover.
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice said from beside her. “Are you staying at the old Fitzgerald place?”
“Ye-mm-hmm,” Sabrina murmured, remembering her breath.
“I thought you probably were,” the woman went on. “I noticed Michelle’s old car parked out front and thought I’d pop in and see who was driving it.”
Oh, great. Walden was one of those towns. The type of town where people knew who drove what. The woman was about her age, Sabrina noticed. She wore a quilted denim jacket with a faux sheepskin collar, jeans, and real boots with thick lugged soles. Her pale blond hair fell just below an abundant bosom in a mass of tight little curls. She would have been stunningly pretty had it not been for the thick layer of makeup that terminated abruptly at her jaw.
“I’m an old friend of the family, by the way,” the woman explained.
“I’m Sabrina. I’m a friend, too. Well, of Gage. I’m Gage’s friend.”
The curly-headed blonde gave her a sympathetic look. “Then you know about Michelle. Such a tragedy. Gage and I went to high school together. When I heard he was back in town, I planned to drop by and see if there was anything I could do. But it looks like you’ve got things under control. Please tell him that Lacey says hello.”
“Lacey,” Sabrina heard herself repeating.
“He’ll know who you’re talking about.” The blonde gave a cheerful wave as she ducked back out the door.
Unbelievable. Sabrina turned back to the checkout counter. The sullen cashier ringing up her items looked as though he could be in his late twenties. Possibly younger, judging by the name of a popular thrash metal band on his T-shirt.
“That was Lacey?” she asked him.
“Yeah, Lacey Petty,” said the boy. “Used to be Adams. Don’t know what name she’ll use after the divorce. That’ll be forty-one dollars. Not from around here, are you?”
“I’m sure that’s obvious,” Sabrina said.
“Definitely.” The cashier held up her debit card, which was embossed with the Texas state seal.
Sabrina trod through the icy slosh laden with brown bags. It was best if she put the strange encounter with Gage’s high school girlfriend out of her mind. He’d spent some of his first eighteen years of life here, sowing his wild oats like any other teenager. This was his hometown, for crying out loud. One-of-everything Walden would undoubtedly have more than one old flame. Sabrina gave the backseat of the Impala a troubled glance.
She got to work as soon as she got back to the Fitzgerald house. Eight hours and fifteen trips to the laundry room later, every surface was cleaned, buffed and polished to a high shine. If only Carlton could see her now, she thought. Her hair was lank with sweat, and her fingers were shriveled from water and cleaning fluids. Her armpits weren’t smelling too good, either. It probably hadn’t helped that she’d plucked one of Gage’s T-shirts from the dirty clothes bin to wear. She wanted a refreshing shower and another cup of coffee, but there was still laundry to fold.
Sabrina dumped the last basket of warm, clean clothes on the bed in what she assumed was Gage’s room and looked around while she folded everything and sorted it into designated piles. Someone — Michelle, perhaps — had gone to great lengths to keep the room perfectly preserved to reflect the last years he’d lived in Walden. Football trophies lined the top of a bookshelf that hosted a disparate selection, from literary works to classic sci-fi. The bedspread, curtains and braided rugs had been selected in green and blue, the colors of Gage’s high school alma mater. A poster board hung over a maple desk set. It was festooned with memorabilia: photos of him and various friends, newspaper clippings heralding home team wins, and ticket stubs to rock concerts. Thumb-tacked to the lower end of the poster board were a wooden-beaded rosary and a tarnished silver I.D. bracelet with the initials M.G.F.
She folded the last T-shirt and tossed it on top of the pile along with the others. Now that she wasn’t beating dust bunnies out of corners with a broom, she realized how strange it felt to be in his old room. She ran her fingertips over the desktop, pausing at a large framed picture of Gage and an older woman. Her shoulder-length hair was darker and much curlier, but there was no mistaking the family resemblance between the two. They shared the same lopsided smile and pale skin sprinkled with freckles. Tucked in the corner of the frame was a Polaroid of a much younger Gage and Michelle and an elderly couple, most likely his grandparents.
Sabrina felt a stab of envy. She couldn’t ever foresee a time in her life when she and Chet would share likenesses in the same picture frame. She wasn’t even sure if she was in any of the March family photographs her stepmother took on the holidays.
She wandered over to the bookcase and slid out a slim, blue volume with Walden High School embosse
d on the spine. A smile tugged at her lips as she flipped through the pages and paused at pictures of high school kids sporting haircuts and clothing en vogue two decades ago. She turned to the graduating seniors section. Gage’s double-dog-dare grin and thatch of auburn hair popped out from the page. So he was a bad boy, she thought. Fancy that. His hair was spiky on top and longer in front and fell over one eye sullenly. Upstanding student citizen equally paired with inner juvenile delinquent. The caption underneath the photo said:
Michael Gage “Fitz” Fitzgerald, Class Clown, Walden Tigers (Tight End), Photography Club, KATU Student Radio
Goal After Graduation: “The same thing I do every year, gang — try to take over the world!”
This was getting really interesting …
Sabrina kicked off her sneakers and sat cross-legged on the bed. There were more posed shots of the teenaged Gage in sections on clubs, sports and student activities. Her favorites were the candids. There was a picture of Gage skateboarding down the school parking lot and another of him looking more thoughtful as he sat in the school’s radio booth.
“Smooth, Fitzgerald,” she murmured as she studied a photo of Gage at the senior prom, his arm draped around Lacey Adams’ shoulders. Lacey sported mall bangs and eye shadow a rare shade of dark pink. In the photo, she gazed at Gage with besotted Bambi eyes, but he seemed not to notice. Instead, he looked directly into the camera, errantly handsome in a black tux with a beer label slapped across the lapel. There was an edge of defiance behind his daredevil smile, Sabrina noticed. Oh yes, he had the look of a young man who’d battled hardship and loss all his life and vowed to keep on swinging.
She heard the front door open then the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.
“Hey there — wow! You’ve really done things with the place.” Gage stopped in the bedroom doorway and did a double take. He held a Nicki’s Coneys takeout bag in one gloved hand. The smell of grilled onions and chili filled the room. “What’s been going on?”
“At this very moment? I’m snooping, Mr. Class Clown.” Sabrina held the yearbook open to display his prom picture. “Oh, that reminds me. Lacey Adams, now Lacey Petty, soon to be Lacey To-Be-Determined-After-the-Divorce, says to tell you hello.”
“You ran into Lacey?” Gage looked amused. “How’d that happen?”
“I was at the market,” Sabrina explained. “We had a short chat.”
“Live in Walden long enough, and you get used to the feeling of your ears burning,” he grinned. He seemed in a lighter mood than he had been the night before.
“Lacey seems very nice. I must admit that I’m always impressed when I meet a woman who can carry off the same hairstyle she had in high school.” Sabrina smoothed the catty ring from her tone — but just barely. Carlton would have approved.
“Amazing, the effect small towns like Walden have on people.” Gage looked incredulous. “You’re sounding less like an independent career woman and more like a plain ol’ jealous girlfriend by the second.” He set the bag on the floor and pulled off his coat.
“I’m not your girlfriend — yet,” Sabrina told him mindfully.
He indulged her with one of the most satisfied smiles she’d ever seen.
“And I don’t get jealous,” she added as she put the yearbook aside.
“Ever?” He gave her a dubious look.
“Never. At least I don’t think so.” Sabrina frowned. “Maybe if I said something like, ‘Lacey is definitely not your type,’ that might suggest jealousy.”
“Or let’s see—” Gage raised a brow. “—if you went through my old high school yearbooks, that too could tell me you’re looking into the former competition to see how you measure up.”
“Oh, Gage. Please.” Sabrina sniffed.
“Well, I think it’s great,” he said with enthusiasm, looking around him.
“That I sound like a jealous girlfriend?”
Gage smiled. “No. I’m talking about the house. I don’t know what to say except for ‘thank you,’ Sabrina. I’ll have a housekeeper come in next time. I didn’t ask you to stay so you could clean up after me.”
“I get bored when I don’t have anything constructive to do.” She felt her cheeks flush hot as she slid the yearbook back into the bookcase. “Amazing the level of cleanliness one can achieve without the distractions of cable television and an Internet connection.”
The next thing she knew he’d wrapped her in a strong hug. The clean smell of his skin was more enticing than the chili.
“Don’t,” she protested, struggling out of his arms. “I’ve been sweating.”
“Fathom that. Chief of Staff Sabrina March perspires heavily in places other than House Chambers.” He kissed the top of her head before he released her. “Don’t worry. I won’t cross into your private stench again without your express permission.”
His tone was teasing, but he still looked a little drained. She spotted a manila envelope with the return address of a local law firm rolled up in the pocket of his jacket. She looked into his eyes and in that split second realized that his gaze had been trained on hers.
“Gage, is that—?”
“I come bearing gifts.” He quickly deflected her unfinished question and snagged the handle of the takeout bag with one forefinger. “C’mon. Let’s get you bathed and fed, changeling.”
Sabrina took the longest shower of her life. Every muscle in her body ached. She felt as though she’d spent an entire day working out at the gym. After the steaming spray ran cold and her skin was saturated with the scent of white castile soap, she rubbed herself dry with a freshly laundered towel. She pulled on a pair of Gage’s old flannel pajamas and rolled up the legs. She found him in the kitchen laying out a spread of coneys, tater tots and soft drinks. He knew she didn’t usually eat junk food.
He also seemed to know that she had been craving it.
“Sit. Eat,” he told her. “Nicki’s has all the fat and salt your heart can handle. Maybe a few vitamins if you don’t pick off the onions.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” She pulled up a seat, her mouth watering. “Nicki’s was the big high school hang-out.”
“First port of call on a Friday night after the big game.” He grinned.
“And yet you’re still upright and breathing. It’s a miracle.” Sabrina eyed the hot dogs. They glistened with grease. If she were in Austin, she’d be eating takeout with Carlton and Moira in Ward’s office. Sushi or a Caesar salad. Something light that didn’t cause heartburn. The rich smell of American cheese, chili and fried potatoes almost made her feel faint. Rolling up the long flannel sleeves, she picked up one of the coneys and took a hearty bite. Then another and another. The tater tots, crisp and brown on the outside, were soft and gooey on the inside.
“This is mmm, Gage.” Sabrina relished the dense, oily taste.
“Of course it is. It’s soul food for white-bread Iowa boys and girls,” Gage popped a tater tot in his mouth and chewed it slowly. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.
“Do I have chili on my chin?” Sabrina asked, alarmed.
“You look cute.”
“Cute?”
“Yeah, cute. You’re sitting there in my flannel eating to your heart’s content, sort of like a character in a Hepburn-Tracy movie. And yes.”
“Yes, what?” she asked.
“You do have chili on your chin. Here, let me—” He dipped the corner of a paper napkin in a glass of water and leaned over the table to wipe it away. “There. Now you look civilized.” He stuffed the sullied napkin and the half-spent carton of potatoes into one of the bags. He hadn’t touched the rest of his food.
“You’re not eating,” Sabrina pointed out.
“I grabbed dinner at the hospital cafeteria earlier, effectively killing my appetite for the next twelve hours.”
“So is that fair game?” Still famished, she cast covetous eyes on the remaining coney. Gage nudged it in her direction. Her appetite was out of control. Then she realized that asi
de from the muffin and the airplane food, she hadn’t had a real meal in two days.
“Happy?” he asked after she’d sucked down the last bit of her cherry cola.
“I’m in heaven,” she sighed, stretching her arms over her head leisurely. The heavy food had a narcotic effect. She felt like she’d been hooked up to a Benadryl drip. When she blinked her eyelids felt leaden. A quick catnap couldn’t hurt. She folded her arms on the table to cradle her head, distantly aware that Gage was moving around the kitchen. She could hear him clearing the table of containers and condiment packets.
“I should be taking care of you,” she murmured. She felt a tight, burning sensation in her chest. Heartburn. She probably deserved it for eating the last hot dog.
“Happy New Year, darlin’.” She heard the rumble of his voice from afar. The last sensations she remembered before everything went black were the cool Formica under her cheek and the warmth of his hand ruffling her hair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Gage woke abruptly.
His body was covered with sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel blood racing through his veins, but he couldn’t tell if he was hot or cold. The old nightmare — bits and pieces pulled from his subconscious that involved the crash of metal, shattering glass and Michelle’s pale, still face — triggered his flight instinct. An inner voice urged him to go. To run away.
You feel guilty because you’re still alive.
He sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes and took a few deep, slow breaths. He felt disoriented, disconnected from place and time. He was back in Iowa. And judging from the way the moonlight tilted into the room so clear and bold, it was sometime during the wee hours of the morning.
What was the dream trying to tell him? That he was making a mistake?
“Gage? What’s wrong?” The sound of Sabrina’s voice startled him. He had forgotten that another person was in the house. She stood in the doorway wearing his baggy flannel pajamas. In the cast of cold blue moonlight, he could see the worry on her face.
“It’s nothing,” he told her, pushing sweat-dampened bedclothes aside. “I’m fine. You should go back to sleep.”
Something About You (Just Me & You) Page 32